


and release

by jdphoenix



Series: the event [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Kid Fic, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Like a lot of people post-Snap, Grant and Jemma have no extended family to visit on the occasion of their son's birth. That doesn't mean no one does.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Series: the event [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797304
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	and release

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read my fic 'tether' you will definitely want to do that before reading this or you will just be so confused.

“You’re beautiful,” Grant says because it’s true, because he can’t help it.

Jemma laughs—just once because she’s been up for thirty hours at this point and just worked her ass off—and it only makes her more beautiful. “Liar.” There was a time, before the whole world changed, when she would’ve said it as an insult or even a statement of fact. Now she’s fond.

He kisses her knuckles. His own hand aches from how hard she was squeezing it and hers must be too, but it’s limp now. She’s only just hanging on by sheer force of will.

“Yeah,” he admits. “But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Sweaty and pale, dark circles under her eyes, hair either clinging to her skin or frizzing up in a messy halo, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That was amazing,” he says.

She shifts, smile disappearing briefly around a wince, then finds a more comfortable position. “It was simple biology.”

Coming from a woman who dedicated her genius mind to “simple biology,” he knows that’s not necessarily disagreement, but he doesn’t want her downplaying this.

“Seriously,” he says, kissing her knuckles again. “I’ve seen you pull off some incredible shit.” He whispers the last word, mindful of little ears on the other side of the room. “This blows all that away.”

Her head drops to her shoulder—she’s too tired to even lift it off the pillow—and she fixes him with a fondly judgmental look.

Any argument she might be planning is cut off by the nurse’s return.

“Ten fingers and ten toes. All his Apgar scores are good.”

“An overachiever already,” Jemma says, welcoming their son back into her arms. They had a brief hello earlier, when he was still squalling and screaming, overwhelmed by sight and sound and touch beyond his wildest dreams. Now that he’s been cleaned up and Jemma’s finished her part, mother and son can be reunited.

Grant’s son.

His eyes are closed against the bright lights, his face still red with anger. He somehow looks smaller with his head cradled in a blue blanket.

It hits him all over again that this little wrinkled man is _his_. His son, his responsibility, his future.

“Do we have a name yet?” the nurse asks, business-like tone softened by the monumental moment playing out in front of her.

The question tears both Grant and Jemma’s focus away from their son. Their eyes meet and some mix of shame and guilt passes between them.

They’ve been fighting over it. And, right here and now, that fight seems damn stupid.

“Don’t worry,” the nurse soothes. “Baby Boy Walker will do fine for the paperwork for now. You get to know him, something’ll feel right soon enough, I promise you.”

She bustles off back to the corner where they were testing the kid, leaving a heavy silence behind her.

Grant tried to avoid the disagreement. He got to choose Skye’s name—not on purpose, but it happened—so he told Jemma the choice was hers this time. But then she said it was too much pressure and demanded he at least help.

Like most people nowadays, she went for the names of people she’d lost. Only trouble was, Grant has a nasty history with a lot of those people. He maybe let himself get a little frustrated over _Melinda_ and _Lance_. When she got to _Leo_ and _Will_ , he got downright mad.

(Can she really blame him for not wanting their kid to have a name his wife has probably moaned in bed?)

Grant reaches out to stroke one little cheek. His son’s mouth opens at the contact, seeking. His eyes flutter. Even his little nose twitches.

“What if we didn’t name him after anyone?” he suggests. “How about Luke?”

She fixes him with a hard look that very clearly says _I just expelled a_ child _, not any of my IQ points._ “Don’t even pretend.”

He chuckles, amused by her anger more than his own joke, and it cuts the tension. She’s smiling before she even turns back to their son.

“Not that I’m conceding ground, but I’m tempted to just let you do it again.” She darts a glance his way, enjoying his surprise. “Skye’s name fits her.”

“She does remind me of an obnoxious consultant who was always questioning my orders.” At five years-old, he’s got hope his daughter will outgrow her namesake’s more childish tendencies.

“Oh hush.” One of Jemma’s knees moves slightly in his direction, like she was considering kicking at him but her body had other ideas. “Skye is not nearly as bad as Cadet Skye was.”

Grant laughs so loudly the baby curls into Jemma’s breast, his face wrinkling up in distress.

“Sorry about that, little guy,” Grant whispers while Jemma soothes him.

“That’s all right, love. Daddy is just so happy to meet you.”

“I know someone else who will be.” Grant uses a kiss to Jemma’s forehead to facilitate standing—and to hide that he’s tucking a gun under her. She nods against his kiss, letting him know she’s felt it. (He checked this hospital top to bottom for threats months ago, but neither of them are alive now because they assumed the best.)

“Good idea,” she says. “She’s probably driving some poor orderly up the wall by now.” Wrapped up in their son, she doesn’t sound nearly as unhappy about that as she usually would.

Despite what he said, it takes a lot of effort to actually _leave_. He could spend all day watching the two of them and it’s only that there’s one member missing from this family portrait that gets him moving.

The nurse catches his arm on his way past her. “Don’t you worry. Your father showed up an hour after you did. He’s been looking after your daughter.”

Grant’s worried, in the years since the Event, whether civilian life was making him soft, taking the edge off his years of training. It’s nice to know he can still fake a smile while inside he’s _freaking the fuck out_.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I’m glad she wasn’t a problem.”

The nurse smiles, oblivious to his state of mind, and goes back to her work. Grant spares a look back at Jemma. Thank God, she didn’t hear. If she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t be smiling.

Grant takes the hallway fast—but not so fast as to draw attention. He hugs the wall as he nears the waiting room, every sense pitched around the corner for any sign of distress. His hand goes to his back and the gun he has tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He doesn’t want to draw it until he has somewhere to aim it, lest some well-meaning security guard clock it and tackle him.

In one smooth motion he steps out—only to jerk his elbow sharply with arrested motion when he sees who’s sitting with Skye. He keeps his hand around the grip but relaxes his posture.

“Hi, _Dad_.”

Coulson looks up from the National Geographic on his lap, a serene smile on his face. There’s no surprise at seeing Grant. Not even any alarm.

And why would there be? _He_ was expecting this reunion.

He’s not alone either. May is perched in the corner like a grim reaper annoyed at being in a maternity ward.

Luckily this is a tiny country hospital, serving a community that was wary of crowds even before the Event imprinted that fear on an entire generation. So the waiting room is theirs for this private little reunion and there’s nothing stopping Grant from taking out his gun when he drops into the seat beside Skye.

She’s asleep, her head on Coulson’s thigh, the stuffed rabbit she brought as a gift crushed tight to her chest. Grant shifts his gun to his left hand so he can check his daughter’s pulse.

It would be out of character for Coulson to hurt a kid, just like it’d be out of character for Grant to give up his globe-hopping spy life for a quiet ranch in the middle of nowhere. The Event changed everyone.

So it’s good to know she’s alive and well enough to squirm in her sleep and snatch her hand back—but not before Grant taps the side of her bracelet. While he was gone, it was coded to let out an alarm if she went more than a hundred yards from him—or technically from his watch—but now she can’t go more than twenty feet.

Since she seems to be comfortable, Grant drops an arm along the back of her chair and settles in. Jemma won’t mind a little extra alone time.

“You’re not dead,” Grant says, figuring it’s as good a place to start as any.

He had wondered. Little less than a year ago, Skye came tearing out of the house telling him—he thought—that Jemma had sent her to make him come see the quake on TV. He made her repeat it twice before he realized she wasn’t dropping the first syllable from _earth_ quake, she was saying a _name_.

News reports were sketchy, no good video or photos. Just a lone figure with powers like Daisy’s helping in a crisis.

He and Jemma had a long talk that night about whether they should investigate. Ultimately he left it up to her and, even though it just about killed her, she said they had to put the safety of their family first.

Grant doesn’t feel too great about Coulson showing up to undo all that now.

“No,” Coulson says, dropping his eyes to Skye, “we weren’t lost in the Event. We were … misplaced.”

Whatever he means by that he doesn’t bother to say and Grant doesn’t bother to ask; he’s too busy watching May come slowly closer.

“By the time we were brought back, things were so different, there were so many crises…”

“No time to check in with old friends?” Not that Grant’s sorry they didn’t call, but he knows the uncertainty has weighed on Jemma.

Coulson and May exchange a look that’s almost guilty. Who knew they had it in them?

“We didn’t want to interfere,” Coulson says softly. As the tone can’t be for him, he can’t help looking to his daughter.

It was Jemma who pointed out that the difference between following and being followed by trouble gets kinda fuzzy where SHIELD’s concerned. Skye hasn’t even lived six years yet, is that all the peace she’s gonna get?

“Really,” Grant says dryly. “You expect me to believe you found out Jemma and I had settled down with a kid and you all just-” he lifts his free hand to gesture in the air- “let it happen? No questions? No suspicions? No gun to my head in the dead of night?”

Coulson smiles. “All the footage we could get on you two—not a lot, by the way—she seemed happy. And it made sense. The way things must’ve gone after the Event—and with her lingering issues from Maveth on top of it—only natural she’d seek out stability, protection.” His expression softens. “You were always good for that, when you put your mind to it.”

If Grant were still standing, the compliment just might knock him back on his heels.

May, always the more practical of the two, gives a less heartfelt answer—and in Mandarin too, in deference to Skye. “We knew if you were keeping Simmons against her will, she’d have killed you by now.”

That’s probably true, so Grant focuses on Coulson. “Let’s say I believe that you just wanted to leave us alone, let us live a peaceful, civilian life. Why come here now? Far as I can see, you were doing a lot better protecting us from a distance.”

Coulson’s smile fades. “I’m dying.”

If Grant was floored by the compliments, this news damn near knocks him out.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s nice of you to pretend, but we both know you’re happy.”

But the truth is, Grant’s … not.

He struggles, searching for a reason for the pit that’s just opened up in his stomach.

Maybe it’s the kids. With Coulson on the front lines, he can be reassured that they’ll grow up safe from aliens and plagues and mad scientists. But, as he’s only known Coulson was alive for the last five minutes, that reasoning feels as hollow as his gut.

“How?” he asks, instinctively searching Coulson for some sign of injury or sickness. He looks okay. A little older, a little sadder. But then everyone is these days.

“Same as the first time. Only slower. The GH-325 isn’t as permanent as we’d hoped.”

Well. Damn. So much for miracles, he guesses.

If John were still alive, he’d sure be laughing. But Grant still isn’t and the reason why still escapes him.

“After the last time,” Coulson says, “I made this team my family. The thing I would leave behind when my time came around again. So I know it’s selfish, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to meet…”

“Your grandson?” Grant doesn’t know why Coulson looks so touched by the suggestion. He was the one who said he was Skye’s grandfather in the first place. “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.”

Why he says yes so easily, he’s not sure. Maybe he’s just sentimental after meeting his son.

He tucks his gun away and leans forward until he can see Skye’s face. He puts a hand to her back, spidering lightly along her spine.

“Hey. Princess.”

Skye hunches her shoulders and screws her eyes shut, pretending to be in a deep sleep. At home, he’d either tickle her in earnest or give up and give a long, loud speech to her stuffed animals about how much she’s missing out on by staying asleep. But today, he doesn’t think he needs to play games.

“Skye,” he presses, “are you ready to meet your little brother?”

Her eyes snap open and she catapults into his arms. “YES! Yes yes yes!”

He laughs while untangling her so he can set her down. “Hey, hey. Remember what we said about hospitals?” he says, dropping to a whisper as he speaks.

She mirrors him, putting a finger to her own mouth when he does. “Quiet like the lib’ary so we don’t wake the sick people up,” she whispers back.

“That’s right. Now Mummy’s not sick, but she is _very_ tired. So you gotta be quiet, okay?”

Skye nods solemnly.

“Okay.” Grant takes her hand and stands. He turns back to Coulson and May. “You two wait here and I’ll come back out with him later. I’d say it’s hospital rules to keep visitors to a minimum but—I just don’t want Jemma seeing you.” She’s been through enough today without worrying all of SHIELD’s crazy is about to come and threaten their kids’ lives.

If he expected them to take that as a sign he really is keeping Jemma against her will, he’d be disappointed. They exchange worried looks.

“That’s all right,” Coulson says. “We were hoping this visit could stay between us.”

Grant doesn’t even try to hide his surprise.

“There are things it’s better if Simmons doesn’t know,” May says. “But she’ll want to.”

Remembering the weeks of uncertainty and frustration that followed the potential Quake sighting, Grant knows they’re right. It was hard enough for Jemma to set aside her questions when the hunt for answers would only endanger their family. Now, when the damage is done and answers are within reach? She’d never be satisfied until she had them all.

He leaves Coulson and May behind to take Skye back to the room, but stops outside the closed door.

Kneeling down to her level, he asks, “Do you know who those people are?”

Skye shakes her head and messy curls slap her in the face. “The man said he was your friend and I was gonna hit the button-” she holds up her wrist and the tracking bracelet- “but he said Mummy was busy and he was just gonna wait with me so I didn’t hit it because I didn’t think he was a threat. Was I wrong?”

“No, princess.” He kisses her forehead. “You did exactly right. But how’s about we don’t tell Mummy about the man, okay? He’s not a threat, but she’ll worry since she can’t see for herself.”

“Okay.” Skye nods, accepting his word with ease. “Can I meet my brother now?”

“Really? You’ve been waiting _nine months_ , don’t you think you can wait a few more minutes?”

“Daddyyyyyyyy,” Skye whines, throwing her head back in the most five year-old pout ever.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go in. But you gotta be quiet, remember? He doesn’t know you yet, so he might be scared.”

“Like Duke?”

They got the puppy last year. It was payment from the Kellers for Jemma’s unlicensed veterinary help and Skye fell in love from the minute she laid eyes on the scrawny little thing. It spent its first night with them hiding in the laundry basket.

“Yeah, just like Duke when we first got him.”

Satisfied, he pushes the door open. Skye creeps across the room, mindful of her sleeping mom. She tiptoes up to the bassinet left within reach of the bed and looks in with overdramatic kindergarten awe.

“Ohhhhhh,” she breathes. “He’s _bootiful_!”

Jemma’s not so asleep as she seemed. Her eyes come open on a smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

Skye rushes to the bed. She’s too short to climb in but does her best to hug Jemma over the railing. “I _love_ him! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Jemma laughs and Grant takes a look in the bassinet. Apparently getting used to this loud and bright world, his son’s eyes are open and he’s studying Grant with a look of curious consternation his mom wears often when she’s trying to parse out a problem.

“What happened to the nurse?” Grant asks while Skye goes back to oo-ing and aw-ing.

“Left,” Jemma says around a yawn. “She said I should sleep.”

Grant looks down at Skye, who’s babbling about the rabbit she’s tucked into the corner of the bassinet, explaining the difference between real animals and stuffed animals to the baby. “I don’t think she expected this much excitement.”

“More like she didn’t know how _painful_ birth is.” Jemma shifts, searching for a comfortable position and failing to find one.

“Do you need me to get someone?”

Jemma stills, tipping her head in a way he knows means he’s about to be mocked. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong room. _My_ husband doesn’t believe in telling medical professionals about aches and pains.”

She is _never_ gonna let him live down those early days on the Bus.

“Mummy,” Skye says in an adorably scolding voice. “Don’t be mean at Daddy.”

“Mummy’s just teasing, princess.” Grant drops a kiss to her hair and then another to Jemma’s cheek. “Besides, you weren’t licensed and I knew more than you did.”

Jemma’s irritation is quickly lost watching their daughter fuss over her brother and soon she’s dozing off for real. Grant has to untangle his fingers from hers so he can re-sync Skye’s bracelet with Jemma’s wedding ring.

“Think you can watch your Mum for a bit?” he whispers.

Skye, who’s calmed down and is fighting sleep herself, nods determinedly.

“Thanks, princess.”

Looks like it’s only the men who are still awake because the baby blinks up at him with wide eyes when he bends down to lift him up. He’s light as a feather, as delicate as a china plate. Grant settles him against his chest gingerly, getting the feel of him. He’s shown bombs less care than his son.

“Ready for your first trip?” he asks.

“Trip,” Jemma murmurs from bed. “You always liked him.” When Grant looks over his shoulder at her, her eyes are closed and he’d almost believe she hadn’t spoken at all if she didn’t add, “Have fun, my boys.”

Grant smiles. _Her boys._ He likes that.

Out in the waiting room, Coulson and May are where he left them. May looks tense as always, and Coulson is uncharacteristically nervous, like he’s afraid he won’t make a good impression on someone who was literally born _today_. He wipes his palms on his lap when he stands and shuffles in place like he doesn’t know whether he should come closer or wait for Grant to reach him.

“Here he is, the man of the hour.”

The baby fixes wide eyes on Coulson.

“Hi,” Coulson says in a soft voice Grant’s never heard before. He waves an index finger in hello. “How are you?”

Even May can’t keep her distance. She inches closer, like every step is against her will, but Grant’s son has a magnetic pull that draws her in despite herself.

“He doesn’t have a name yet?” Coulson asks in a slightly more normal voice. “Or do you just not want us to know?”

“Like it’d stop you finding out,” Grant murmurs. Years of effort hiding from their old lives, apparently it was all a waste.

Coulson lifts his eyes from the baby’s face. “Just tell me it’s not gonna be Luke.”

Grant honestly has no answer for the insult that is Coulson using his joke.

When no one responds, Coulson looks to May. “Luke and Skye Walker?”

May doesn’t even roll her eyes.

“It was an accident,” Grant admits. When he put _Skye_ on the hospital forms, the name just stuck. And later, when they settled down and Jemma suggested they use Skye’s biological mother’s last name so she’d have some piece of her, it seemed reasonable enough to Grant. The fact he got to keep his initials was just a bonus. Neither of them thought about the unintended reference until they took her to get caught up on her vaccinations and the doctor assumed they were fans.

Coulson looks surprised but is quickly caught up in the baby again.

Grant shifts him to his hands. “Here.”

With nothing short of total awe, Coulson rushes to take the baby. He cradles him to his chest, smiling like Grant just handed him a complete set of original run Captain America trading cards.

“How _did_ you find us?” Grant asks.

“Garrett,” Coulson says, voice soft like he’s afraid anything above a whisper will shatter Grant’s son into a million pieces. He smiles up at Grant, shoulders still hunched around the bundle in his arms. “Don’t worry. We buried any connection there was to find. No one else will come at you that way.”

“Thank you.”

May shifts in Grant’s peripheral vision. At first he thinks it’s her expressing disbelief that he actually thanked them for something, but she keeps moving, coming closer so she can stand at Coulson’s shoulder. Her expression softens, reminding him less of the emotionless Cavalry and all too much of Kara.

The similarity hits him hard in that same pit in his gut and he finally realizes what it means.

He’d have let them go on longer, but it’s barely five minutes before Coulson is handing the baby back over. “Thank you,” he says, sincerity in his voice and a shimmer in his eyes.

“You’re leaving?” Grant asks. He’s not ready yet, he thinks. Which is just … so stupid. He ducks his head while he settles the baby against his chest. He squirms, irritated by his pounding heart.

“Yes. We don’t want to put you in any more danger than we already have.” Coulson meets his eyes, something heavy in his. “Thank you, Grant. For this and-” he sighs- “and for taking care of her. I’m proud of you.”

That pit closes up, wrapping around Grant’s heart like a vice. He doesn’t know what to say.

But then there’s nothing _to_ say. Coulson, true to his word, nods and turns to go.

Is it just Grant’s imagination or is he a little less steady on his feet than he used to be?

May hangs back, long enough Coulson’s out of earshot when she says a quiet, “Thank you.” It’s gotta kill her to do it, but her eyes say she means it for Coulson and she’d always do anything for him.

Grant watches them until they disappear into the elevator and then watches the numbers for a minute after that. When it’s been stuck at one for too long to be returning right away, he looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms.

“Let’s get you back to Mummy, okay?”

Skye doesn’t even stir when he comes back in; he should’ve asked, but he imagines she spent most of the last few hours bouncing around the waiting room, telling Coulson all about the baby brother she was here to meet.

Jemma has by necessity become a light sleeper. She smiles her way back to consciousness, her arms open.

Grant kisses her while he transfers the baby over. She arches her neck, kissing him back.

“Have I told you I love you today?” she asks when he pulls back—not that he wants to, but his back can’t take much more.

“In between contractions when you apologized for all the cursing.”

“Right. I was repressing that, I think.” The bitter twist to her lips evaporates when she looks down. “Did I think of a name while I was sleeping? I thought I did but can’t remember now.”

“You did.” And no offense to Trip but- “But I was thinking, how about Cole?”

The last of that cloud of sleep sloughs right off Jemma and she blinks at him, fully awake and fully shocked. “Really? Cole?”

Grant takes the visitor chair beside Skye’s. “I was thinking about legacy. What I want to leave behind when my time comes. And all the men who made me, whether I liked it or not.” He looks at the fragile little person in Jemma’s arms, a whole lifetime of hurts and joys and discoveries ahead of him. “I guess I was thinking about him, and who I’d want to be most like _for_ him.” It hurts to say it. As much to admit it’s not John as it does to admit Coulson was more to him than just the obstacle he treated him as. He shrugs, wanting the moment to be over.

Jemma smiles, soft and warm and totally accepting of his past. “I think Cole sounds lovely. Don’t you?” She takes the pressure off him by looking at the baby—at Cole.

He makes no answer of course, but Jemma talks to him like he does. Grant passes a hand over Skye’s curls while she sleeps and listens to Jemma speak their son’s name to him about a million times. This life they’ve built is a far cry from the one they came from. It was tough and messy and probably will be for however long it lasts. It’s one he’s proud of. He hopes his son will be proud of it too.


End file.
